The Diversion of the Century
by NuclearMetallity
Summary: People believe what they are told to. In war times it works mercilessly as the majority thinks conformistically. But there are always those who think in different way. This story is about the Rohirric girl who had always been afraid of Uruk-Hai but one day stepped over her fears after stumbling upon a wounded one. Follow the storyline and see with your own eyes. Movieverse.
1. A Troublesome Trip

_Finally I began translating my current LotR story._

_I am not an English speaker so I'm very grateful to Jaxzan Proditor for beta-reading my text. Honestly, I had never thought before that stories about Orcs or Uruk-Hai could be interesting to anyone but then I met a lot of Orc-fans there :) I also must say this story is dedicated to my best, beloved friend Irkis but she will read it when it's complete. The original story is in Russian and I've written 7 chapters so far. There will be 12, maybe 13 chapters._

* * *

The March evening was grey and dank. It was still not really spring yet, as inky-black clouds covered the frozen steppe with snowy rain and thinking of anything but the hearth and hot tea was impossible, but somehow Aelga succeeded to. Her sword swiftly cut cold air, whistling and outlining arches, loops and "eights". In times as these she imagined herself to be a shieldmaiden like Lady Eowyn.

"Daughter", mother's voice, quiet and hoarse from crying, came to her from behind, "Do you want to catch cold? Come in".

Having surfaced from her imaginings, the girl turned around. Her mother, wrapped up in a downy shawl, stood by the wicket door of the courtyard and seemed to have been watching her for long time. Her black funeral kerchief contrasted with her pale face, tears trembling in swollen eyes. Aelga rubbed her numb hands together and exhaled. Training cleared up her mind and distracted her from the pain of loss but she decided she had done enough for today. Her duties at the village stable and her house work took away a great amount of her energy and also it was supper time already.

Three days has passed since the news of the unexpected, incredible victory in Helm's Deep was brought to Trevarn, this humble settlement in Eastfold. Keeping the Eastern threat in mind and staying aware, the people have been still celebrating. However, in many, many families there was no place for fun. Only two messages had a meaning for Aelga and her parents. The first was a tragic one: her elder brother Idvar had died. Strong, diligent and enthusiastic in taking risks, Idvar was their father's pride. He served in the elite éored of Eastfold and had a dream of becoming a man-at-arms of the Marshal's, but he was not to win the glory. An Orcish arrow hit him right in his eye and killed him on spot. Yesterday his body was delivered home and buried with all the proper customs. He had loved his sister and little by little taught her how to handle weapons and now he has ceased to be. The second piece of news was also of the death but, despite all the War horrors, brought Aelga no grief but relief: not returning from the fortress was her groom.

"Vittan, Vittan", her father whispered shaking his head. There was unleavened porridge cooling down in his plate, "So tall, so hard and mighty, and yet split nearly apart! What sort of beasts they were, these Uruks? Half-Orcs, half-men… Saruman be damned for making such an abomination! Bless Béma, they hadn't reached here, but soldiers said the forest hadn't devoured them all and some were still prowling around…"

"Enough!" her mother flared up, "Vittan died honorably protecting us, so enough about Uruks!"

"About Vittan too", Aelga added after swallowing the porridge and was at once glared at with moral outrage by her family.

"Couldn't you ignore your selfishness at least for now?" her father chided, "We all know he wasn't of your liking but couldn't you just show a bit of respect for the fallen?"

"As you wish, father", she stood up abruptly and headed for her room, "My absence is the best respect for him, as my feelings have always meant nothing to you".

"Come back here immediately!" her father said in an angry tone and banged his fist on the table.

But his daughter has already shut her door, lain in the bed and covered herself with a blanket, hiding her head under it.

"Wasn't of your liking"… he was not simply not-of-her-liking, she hated him. Polite and courteous when watched, he was rude and arrogant when he met her alone on a way to the well or to the market. He didn't let his hands take any liberties but was always throwing lewd glances, chuckling and saying a mere stable servant had no chance to escape from a soon-to-be officer. When she inquired what makes him so enthralled with a mere stable servant who is indifferent to creams and rouges, fond of sword-waving and wears pants, he faltered, wrinkled his forehead and blurted that she is too beautiful for a peasant. Yeah, in this matter he was more right than wrong. In spite of being short she was slender, her thin face with bright green eyes was pleasant to look at and also her long straw-colored hair was always well-washed, though usually braided in a plait. In other words, she was nowhere near regular bulky countrywomen. Again, nonetheless, is it a reason for stalking and bothering her, for staring at her as if she was a thoroughbred mare?! Her friends envied her and twisted fingers at their temples until she fell out with every one of them while her parents did not trust her and believed she was making a mûmakil out of an ant. Vittan was a son of a captain who was well received at the house of Théoden. From her parents' point of view that was an indisputable value. Eager with the desire to join military class and indeed sincerely wishing their daughter well they didn't consider necessary to ask if she liked him. Oh Béma, they did not even ask at all if she wanted to be a married woman burdened with children and household chores! They appointed the wedding for April and Aelga was already thinking of leaving without goodbyes, fortunately she had got some money saved, but destiny's dice fell differently. The illusive hope appeared that importunate wedding talks will stop at least for a while… however Vittan will be mourned for a long time and she will have to tolerate it.

With such thought she fell asleep but, happily, without dreams about this. She has been very tired and was glad to fall down to the deep dead oblivion as tomorrow she was to go to Edoras.

* * *

Trevarn was an agricultural settlement. The people grew vegetables, fruits and grains but with animals prospects were worse. Good beef and pork or a decent mount could be bought in the capital only. The road, far, winding and feared because of the rumors about remaining Orcs, took six full hours to get there and no one but soldiers of the Riddermark and the bravest armed villagers dared to travel alone. Merchants and strangers, on the contrary, waited by the gates for a very long time for gathering of seven or eight carts and guards whose service sometimes was rather costly.

Aelga had to go through with that too. In the morning everything went surprisingly fast as nine fellow travellers with their baggage had already crowded near the exit before the dawn, but when it came to returning her fortune abandoned her. About five o'clock in the evening, after tiresome roaming up and down the bazaar filled with people and horses, where she bought everything she had been asked to – milk, cheese, butter, honey, healing roots and big bull rump barely fitting into her saddlebag – she understood she will not be leaving soon. And it was no wonder why: uncertainty lain ahead, peasants tried to buy as much food as possible and left for home in the morning hours with fresh strength, having spent nighttime in inns. But she had no money to make a stop. And also her father strictly ordered her to return before dark. And also… oh, what is such a punishment for? Perhaps the only one who could be unhappier was Molly, her small but beloved ginger white-nosed filly.

"Never mind, we'll get out of here", the girl optimistically tapped her on her withers. The fleeting idea caused a wave of vague uneasiness but promised to speed the task, "The sun is still high, we are lucky…"

Nudging the horse with her heels Aelga hurried to the exit – and, like any loner, was stopped at the gates. Broad-shouldered guardsman with a halberd looked at her critically, scrutinizing her thick leather jacket and the sword in the scabbard, cleared his throat and inquired in grumpy voice:

"How far are you going, young lady?"

"To Darlen", she lied easily. Darlen was the neighboring village within just a half-hour's ride.

"Hmm… didn't know you're from there", the guardsman backed down but added out of routine, "Be careful and don't turn off the road! The wilderness is dangerous!"

Dangerous it is, no doubt. The people were slowly returning to their peaceful life but the soldiers were patrolling the plains day and night. Alas, the stories of Uruk-Hai survivors were no idle rumors and riders did their best to do away with them for good. At the market she heard that yesterday's night three Uruks assaulted and plundered the outlying homestead. The patrols immediately came tearing along and slayed them but were late; two men were brutally killed; five were wounded, women and children were still terribly scared. Today was a calm day but there was the fact – it has been just three days since all the population of Edoras was trembling with fear in the caves of Aglarond, while lesser towns and villages remained unharmed just by Valar's blessing, and if it was not for the éored arriving in time… Aelga shook this thought off. The common trade route arched for almost two hour of extra length and she was just going to shorten the way by going through the rocky hills. Yes, she risked but she no longer wanted to be afraid. This is Eastfold, the outskirts of the capital, and the mopping-up was performed there earlier than anywhere else!

She hoped to reach home by sunset but in three hours, when it got colder and deep blue shadows lay down on the hills, Molly wearily slowed her pace. The horse was thirsty, replying blandishments and soft kicks with discontented neighing, so the girl dismounted and unclasped the saddlebag with the meat. Snowy rolling flatland spread for many miles around and, as wide as Aelga eyed this monotony she could find neither river nor stream in sight, however the dark spot far ahead appeared to be familiar and her spirits lifted. That was a birch groove with an old well in there! Molly remembered that place too and needed no further hupping but then, as they got closer to the groove, all of a sudden she began to snore and jib.

"Aw, you'd better define whether you want to drink or not", Aelga said with irony but, keeping in mind that Molly was whimsical and pretty capable of such tricks, she took the bucket which hung at the side of the saddle. "All right, wait here for a little. I'll bring you some water".

She trudged into the trees, blaming herself for imprudence and trying not to think of what she will hear from her overstrung parents. What must be, will be.

The well was abandoned long ago and no one came here for water anymore. Even shepherds did not. It had careened and was surrounded by a puny lake, but the semicircular stonework enclosing it was still steady. Last pinkish sheens played on its outer rim while insides have dimmed in darkness. Bad presentiment stung Aelga's stomach like a hundred needles but everything happened at such a lightning speed that she had no time to react…

…With a terrible growl an enormous black shadow burst out of the gloom and, had not it been for the ice which the girl slipped on she would have already been beheaded. A crude dark blade clanged on the stonework right above the top of her head, but then it was over for both of them had lost their footing. The assailant growled once more but apparently of pain and instead of advancing to her again it clumsily fell with its shoulder against the fencing. This gave Aelga several salutary seconds and she quickly got to her feet, jumping back and unsheathing her sword. Idvar's pattern-welded weapon which had been bequeathed to his sister long before the battle made a furious flash in the rays of the angry crimson sun as if the brother himself came to her aid. The thing that has nearly killed her recoiled from the flare and just then she was finally able to take a closer look at it.

It was an Orc.

And it was everything she could say for certain. The hoarse beastly breath, dense coat of horrible dirt, thick stench of unwashed body and rags were obviously Orcish attributes, but these were the only recognizable traits. Still holding the sword in her hand, Aelga stood there perplexedly and watched the unknown creature who sat on the ice in painfully lopsided pose.

"Is it… an Uruk-Hai?" she guessed timidly when she paid attention to the White Hand label daubed roughly onto the helmet and pauldrons. She was not sure. Saruman's army had been heading right for Helm's Deep while the central Eastfold horse patrols prevented Uruk-Hai from invading the region, so she had only been told they were huge but had never seen them with her own eyes. She saw regular Orcs but those were just corpses dumped in a pile for burning. In both height and obviously strength they were inferior to a human male but this one was almost thrice larger than her! Even his heavy assault armor and untidy leather clothes could not conceal the body-build every knight would envy.

The Uruk-Hai didn't try to get up. Fearsomely he stuck out his weapon in front of him. It was brownish and unsightly and had a sharp thorn on its end. It seemed a great effort for him to do this. His half-closed helm left the lower part of his face (or, more precisely, his scowling sharp-toothed snout) open, and there he had a grimace of pain rather than of rage. His right greave was pressed inward and broken through, sharp edges digging into the flesh, but the wound did not bleed anymore, having been covered with a black crust.

"One wrong move and I will stab you", Aelga promised seriously. Wounded or not, an Orc is an Orc. A murderer and probably a rapist… the gossips about them were so scary that the blood stood still in women, maidens' and little girls' veins. Frankly, she should have acted right away like the King Théoden's warriors had at the Hornburg: while looking for their live comrades they finished off live Uruks without a slightest regret.

The Orc did not reply to the threat. Maybe he did not make out the words or did not understand them, due to not speaking Westron, or even did not hear what she said, and for some reason the third seemed to be more true. Keeping constant watch on him, Aelga moved a bit aside, then knocked on the ice with the heel of her boot when Molly, who was still lingering, neighed from behind the trees – and surely he should have comprehended _that_ as a warning but, contrary to logic, didn't move at all. The reason became clear. He was deaf and practically blind, perceiving illumination differences only, and the only sense he could use properly was smell. The smell of a frightened human female, a prey. Hating herself for this, Aelga squeezed the hilt stronger and stepped forward resolutely, raising the weapon to thrust it into the unprotected skin of the creature's throat. The Uruk smelled the change in her scent, his whole body shuddered and he dropped his poker-like blade, gurgling out a strained, grunting cough. Black droplets splashed on her face and stained the furry collar of her jacket. She made a face with disgust, but that was the moment when she lowered her sword.

"_What do I know of them_?" the very inopportune thought flashed through her mind, "and… what do I know of _him_?"

The formulation itself sounded inappropriate in relation to the immemorial foes of the Free Peoples, but the very fact that it did pop up at all strangely excited the Rohirric girl. Her scent altered again and the Uruk noticed that. His breathing leveled, he stopped shuddering and leaned his head against the fence. Indeed he had been thoroughly battered but precisely was not yet at death door, so far.

Aelga did not understand what her hands suddenly began doing. The left one, holding the bag, shook the thawing bull rump out on the ground, and the right one, holding the sword, chopped off a little chunk. Then she came up to the Uruk-Hai and squatted down in front of him. Tossing the meat up in her hand she smiled joylessly.

"No, I would not hand-feed you. Surely you can bite my fingers off…" hesitantly she put the chunk on the ice for him to smell and grope at.

Molly neighed again, resentedly this time. Meanwhile, the sun set and the girl jumped up, remembering her mother and father had most likely worried themselves to death over her. She found her bucket which had rolled away from her, but did not dare to take water from the well (what if there was Orcish vomit down there?). Instead she made a small ice-hole, using her sword, and scooped a bucketful from under the ice. Having thrown a farewell glance at the wounded she hastily left the groove without saying a word.

At the third time Molly finally allowed Aelga to mount her, and she came home at one o'clock in the morning. She realized it would not be easy to hush up and forget it and composed a fitting story for her parents. Stray dogs attacked her. She had to share the meat. They left her alone. No matter how confused it sounded, the point was they believed her and didn't look closely at the spots on her clothing. Mother almost drowned her in her tears, father yelled at her but she did not show indignation. She deserved the scolding.

* * *

**A/N: The rating may change in the future because there will be rather non-fairytale philosophy topics and blood. Lots of it.**


	2. A Troublesome Patient

The horses greeted Aelga with their habitual joyful snorting. Before going to work she had visited the bathhouse – as long as even her dear Molly was turning up her nose the soldiers' steeds would as well…

The bloody splatters on the floor struck her eyes right as she entered. Bunched by the one of the stalls was the small group of servants and nearby stood a soldier, dour like a storm cloud. They were tempestuously discussing a torn tendon wound. All the room was noisy but Aelga could not fail to identify the soft, gentle voice of Grandpa Gilnon, a cattle healer who had noticed her interest in medical mastery and unofficially hired her as his apprentice. Examining the horse he talked to it and assuaged it, calling its name, while it behaved docilely and did not fuss.

"I've completely forgotten he was to come today!"

The stallion was not usual but the one of Mearas breed, noble and expensive. He suffered from warg bites from the night before last when a horse mounted patrol trapped a pack by the Snowbourn. The owner pleaded to save his mount's leg but the chance of succession was fifty-fifty. Sighing, the healer said he did not have necessary potions in his disposal and the only place they could be obtained at was the local temporary hospital, but then, having bumped into Aelga, he exclaimed with shiny smile:

"Oh, there are you! Put on your jacket, we're going to the infirmary. Yeah, together", he forestalled the question. "I'll teach you how to match herbs and mix up ointments. You don't want to be an eternal bandage-fetcher, do you?"

She blushed. The opportunity excited her so much that she hardly felt any cold while they walked towards the spacy barracks which the chief of the settlement had rearranged as a casual sickhouse. However, when they have reached there, the inflow of giddiness went away. The setting would not tolerate that.

Coming out to meet them was the senior healer, an old grey-haired woman named Théogwen who was known to be Gilnon's age-old acquaintance from Wold. He had worked along with her for many years before the load of human sufferings forced him to get refocused on animals, and they have been good friends. Her sullen, wrinkle-furrowed face read like many of the soldiers accommodated in the barracks were doing very bad. Aelga felt uneasy when this sharp fastidious look lingered on her hands but then she bowed curtly and asked first where the washstand was. The woman smiled in moderate manner, pointing at the farthest corner of the inner porch, and invited her and Grandpa to the storeroom. She laid sheaves of herbs, pouches, sacs, small mortars and flasks out on the table then gave Gilnon the opportunity to teach his apprentice himself and went out to the room for the severely wounded where the nurses had summoned her to.

Taking the example of the painkilling salve and anti-pus mixture the old man shown Aelga how she should pestle, measure and mix ingredients, specifying that the proportions for humans and animals must be different. Listening attentively, Aelga did not hesitated to ask about this and that and Gilnon readily gave his answers. Then, after they finished preparing the medication for the horse, he told her to repeat everything from memory. In the meantime the senior healer had returned and quietly stood by the door, nodding along with her recitation. Her face visibly softened when she saw befitting sedulity.

Leaving the infirmary, Aelga delved into her thoughts and could not catch up with what Gilnon was talking about to Théogwen, who followed them out. She was slowly walking along the row of the cots where bandaged men and youths with stabs and gushes, bruises and broken bones were lying and sitting on, and right near the exit her attention was drawn to one of them. Without external injures, he was able to walk and staggered from the toilet to his cot. A nurse came running up to him and asked with gestures if he felt nausea, and with the same gestures he silently replied he did not. So dull and drowsy, just like the…

"Grandpa Gilnon, what's happened to him?" Aelga enquired when they went outdoors, "How did he become deaf?"

"From a contusion", the healer said, "He was on the wall when it was blown up".

"And… how to help such a patient?"

She did not know why she was exploring the topic and bit her tongue as if she said a foul word. Steeling herself inside she got ready to fight off unwanted questions but, to her surprise, none followed:

"Well, first and foremost, take off the armor…"

* * *

What an absurd idea. What bullshit. What does this have to do with the half-dead Uruk-Hai who has probably already died? She just drew a parallel between the soldier and the Uruk, having seen the similar symptoms and understood he was contused as well… but nonetheless why did she ask how to help? Why did she not think that it would be better still to kill him off? For the rest of the day Aelga was silent like a fish. Absentmindedly she carried water, loaded hay and fetched foals to the outlet. She could not let go of the idea, it was stewing in her head like a soup of addle products, and by the evening she gave up. She said to the hostlers she was going home, at home she assured her parents she was to visit her friend who lived in the hunters' hamlet (despite the fact that she had long as told her to go to Morgoth, smashing her nose for ribald gossiping), and finally, at the gates, she told the warden that Molly had already have a rest and needed to run a wild meadow. Overall she said a damn lot of lies but at least the last was a truth.

"And now you are riding in a faraway land to gawk at some corpse", she smirked in her head and again berated herself for this blatantly crazy idea. "What if he is not a corpse yet? Will you finish him? Oh, you wi-i-ill… with the sense of duty, like every decent Rohirrim. You're feeling ashamed of that folly with the chunk of meat and the interrogation of unsuspecting Grandpa. But if you're going to do it, why are you carrying bread and sausage in your bag? And the vigor-root tincture, and also the numb-grass salve… eh, there is no reason for soul-searching anyway. Let it just be your wish to test your new skills, but when he gets well you'll run away".

She got to the groove at half past six. The sky was clear, the sun was still shining brightly and there was nothing to worry about… except for she did not find the Orc by the well. The track of identical footprints and inevitable black droplets lead her into a bush. Seemingly he was able to stand up and hop along… in full equipment… in the cold… that's endurance! Out of reflex Aelga put her hand on the hilt. Then she gingerly followed the trail and stumbled upon an empty timber cabin. Once there had been a summer shepherd house here but what was left was just a memory of that. And here she found the Uruk. Alive. Gripping his ugly sword he was lying on his side as if he was asleep. Seemingly. His chest was steadily rising and falling but because of his helmet she did not see if his eyes were shut or not. He had eaten the meat and judging by the cleanness around he did not thrown up – his durable Isengardian cuirass had shielded his entrails from the shockwave – but sometimes he twitched and snored, spitting out blood. There was no surprise. His head was contused; that caused problems with his hearing, eyesight, brains and nasal cavity which began to bleed. Aelga cautiously came up to the Uruk from behind, pushed him with her foot but did not get any reaction aside from some inarticulate grunting. She started to make a fire on the earthen floor. Time after time she glanced at him attentively and caught herself thinking she might change her mind in the name of all the kind and fair in the Middle-Earth, but went on with what she was doing. Just one swing of her sword would restore the world harmony in this lovely forest nook, but instead there was the burning campfire heating the cabin and the boiling water in the bucket. The girl admitted the patient's indifference again and hemmed. It was funny but true that being unconscious he could not harm her.

To take off the armor…

"Are you nuts?!" the silent scream of her common sense took the starch out of her. "He is _an Uruk-Hai_, not some drunken guard! Now he will wake up and…"

The first thing was his sword. She had trouble taking the handle out of his grip, simultaneously pulling off both of his plate gloves. Oh, those were paws. They did look like human hands though were tipped with bearlike claws. The next were his gauntlets, pauldrons, full-metal breastplate with a scaled stomach-piece and his left greave… yet Aelga was not brave enough to touch his stinky leather clothes and also shunned to take off his right greave. She decided she would take care of the wound later.

"How do you lot carry all of this metal?" she asked rhetorically, well aware of the Uruk's not hearing it. Her brother's armor was a way lighter. "Fffffaugh, so much dirt. Hadn't Saruman taught you to wash yourself? He called himself the White, didn't he?"

But the most awful was still awaiting ahead: the helmet. There was thick and long, matted, shaggy black hair falling down onto his back and chest and Aelga loathed making contact with it. At first she could not get to the task but then she approached by his side and unfastened the strap, constantly reminding herself that he can bite. To pull this sharp-spiked pot off his head was also difficult. Oh yeah, here was his _mug_. She remembered the words by the banner-bearer from Meduseld who had come to Trevarn to bring the news of Uruk-Hai to those who had never had even a glimpse of them. He had said they had much in common with gorillas from the Far Harad but the reality turned out to be… different? Or course, his snout was hideous and his rough black-brown skin intensified this but it was by no means like that of an ape. Yes, this armour of a forehead was broad, beveled a little backwards and evidently very hard, his cheekbones and eyebrows protruded, his eyes were slightly slanted, his nose blunt and weirdly shaped, his jawbone heavy, but his chin was human. The impressive canines that he had been baring yesterday were just a bit sticking out from under his thin lips today, and his pointed lobeless ears completed the image.

"Hey", Aelga clapped the Uruk on the shoulder to check up how deep he was into his stupor.

It seemed rather deep. He only muttered something unintelligible and Aelga's fear of him repeating yesterday's feat diminished. He was apparently in the same state as that warrior back in the hospital, but at night he had spent a lot of strength trying to stay protected from the frost and, moreover, his wound caused a fever… and told her a separate story. It was inflicted in a backhand stroke which broke through the greave, the boot fabric and his skin, and then because of the omnipresent grime the cut got infected. The Uruk sharply flinched when Aelga freed his right shin from the clothes and metal, and to avoid a kick of his ironshod boot she had to literally sit down on his left one. She had nothing to sew his cut up but there were bandages in her bag. Bless Yavanna, the mush of numb-grass – or _athelas_ as Elves named it – soothed his pain fast. While the inexperienced nurse was busy with washing and bandaging the patient did not resist and soon she was proudly looking over the result. It turned out not bad but that was not all. She should also pour the tincture down his throat in the way of preventing him from choking. The doubts about whether she must wake him up with ammonia gnawed on Aelga so she tiredly flopped down onto the pile of spare firewood.

"He is an enemy of Rohan", the same inner voice lectured her around. "They were created to exterminate your people. They plundered villages, slaughtered whole frontier posts, murdered wayfarers and as for women… garn, do you even imagine what he would do to you if he was healthy? Didn't that flag-bearer say lucidly _how exactly_ Saruman had bred them in his foul dungeons?! Naïve fool! Idvar had killed them and now you heal this one. You wasted medications which would have healed a Riddermark warrior hadn't you bought them for your whims… and also you're going to feed it as if your parents' dinner table was braking under the weight of gourmet food!"

This voice always stood up for right things and blamed wrong ones. Aelga was used to listen to it but this time something within its call nagged her. Some thread tore and lost, and it had nothing to do with her parents – she had a paid job and bought the food and medicine with her own money.

After half of an hour had passed, Aelga was looking down at the floor and did not realize right away that she was being _watched_.

Oh, she had foreseen this moment totally differently. She was lost in thoughts but her hand never left the sword handle, in case the muscle mountain would leap up and attack her. She did wait for something like that, having had calculated the escape route beforehand, but instead the Uruk-Hai stayed silent lying where he was, studying her sad face and hunched figure. And, truth be told, she would have shrieked had not his eyes been so…

Violet.

Usually Orcish eyes are yellow or red. She was rather startled when faced by this calm and intelligent gaze. Those eyes of iris color were intently staring at her.

"And how about your ears?" she asked, stirring the tincture in the saucer and trying not to shiver, "Can you hear me?"

His ears jerked to the sound like a cat's or a dog's. If he was not an Uruk-Hai she would giggle… but it seemed he was still in far from proper hearing. His symptoms resembled exactly what was described by Grandpa Gilnon. For two weeks he will be deaf and limp but conscious. Thank Heavens he was not bedridden. The last circumstance extremely rejoiced Aelga but, as she realized this, the Uruk pushed himself up abruptly with his elbows and looked around searching for his weapon. When he saw his sword in the corner he dashed forward and grabbed it.

"No-no-no, this's not necessary! You're not a captive, I'm a civilian and I'm not going to poison you", the girl pattered when she has got it right. The Uruk set his good leg against the floor and his shoulder against the wall. He could jump at her if he had such a wish so she reinsured herself, blindly moving back and almost spilling the warm, tart-smelling liquid. He shook with his sword, snarled and once again demonstrated his yellow unbrushed teeth while Aelga was nodding and lisping, but her arguments did not work until she made out her own sword was pointed at him as if she was a burglar. Their blades have almost touched when she weighed up her pros and contras about her irrational decision for the hundredth time.

"What if I am the very first who does this in all the history? The first and soon-to-be dead?"

The light sword lowered, like yesterday, and… following its lead was the dark one. The teeth also hid away. Only the lilac eyes on the black face were squinting at her in a wild and questioning way. That was a good time to regain composure and unpack the dinner (or supper?), but the purple glow outside the window has already faded and the darkness was creeping up…

"Y'know, I'd better hurry home", Aelga jabbered again. "Here is the tincture… drink it. It is of a vigor-root, a febrifuge and restorative. There're also bread and sausage. Make yourself a sandwich" she smiled in the most foolish way, saving herself from the growing horror, "I'll come tomorrow. Or I won't… well, goodnight!"

…Urging Molly, she cursed herself for both cowardice and temerity but knew she _would_ come again.


	3. All things come to those who wait

_Guys, there are two points._

_1. The word "koumiss" [koom'iss]. For those who don't know (there may be more than Jax alone =)) - it is the traditional drink of horse-fancing peoples. It is made of mare milk, and I conseder it fitting for Rohirrim._

_2. My version of Uruk-Hai genesis WILL be explained later. Patience :)_

_Personal thanx to Jaxsan Proditor, as before._

* * *

The next two days felt much more like springtime than the previous. Snow thawed away, young grass made its way through the withered straw and the happiest one about this was Molly. She didn't feel bored anymore and grazed at the meadow while her owner was away into the groove. The small patch of forest sheltering a lost spawn of the wizard was soon to be all green with leafage.

"Tasty, eh? Chop-chop, yeah, gobble it up…" Aelga babbled under her breath, changing the bandage.

The Uruk ravenously gnawed on a fried chicken without giving attention to her ministrations with his leg. The day before the last, after one customary scowl, he had let her touch his wound and since then she has been rinsing it with a herbal concoction, salving it with a painkiller and taping it up with bandages. He was behaving like a scary but smart wild beast that didn't tolerate cockiness but was very much capable of figuring out that he was being helped. This fact itself amazed her: what will be the next? The whole world, all the Free Peoples ingeminated in unison that trust was unbeknownst to Orcs but what was that happening here if not trust? Or are Uruk-Hai just smarter than Orcs? She felt proud of herself but was unsure of her success and tried to act as carefully as she could, though sometimes she clamped her nose because of the awful stench and nightmarish dirt. For hygienic purposes she had brought a linen apron from her home and it needed washing right away…

"Sorry but I'm done with this!" Aelga failed to restrain herself. His calf, every time she washed it, was relatively clean but that could not be said about the rest of his body. The snow-white bandage looked ludicrous on so a grotesque background. "You are so droll. What a smart guy – you don't scatter bones around, put your clothes in the corner and even find out where the outhouse is – but just look at this!", she rolled her eyes theatrically, "It's against all the rules! Shame on you! Did you ever think of why I wash my hands, boil water and wipe your hide with alcohol? Grandpa Gilnon would kill me… but he would kill you first. Not by himself, though, now he is too old for battles. He would call riders! So", she placed her hands on her hips. The Orc was still deaf, but when she spoke louder his ears twitched, and seeing her gestures he clearly guessed about the rest of her message. "There is a hot spring not so far away. Tomorrow I'll bring you bath stuff".

He answered with a brusque snort.

"No matter if you want it or not, it must be done", Aelga insisted. "Well, bye, see you soon".

* * *

Unfortunately, she failed to keep her promise. In the morning, while she fidgeted in the barn and painfully busied her brain with seeking a glib excuse to slip away from home for entire night, Trevarn went crazy with a sudden visit of the messengers from Meduseld. It was the urgent army gathering and departure for Gondor's aid – so said dour Gamling, demanding to equip at least twenty warriors for a long-distance march within two days. Aelga felt numb. She could not forget the war was in full swing, but her "folly", this unnatural compassion towards an Uruk-Hai who had been killing Rohan people not so long ago, distracted her from these worries. Oh yeah, if it hadn't been for the "folly" she would have already worn out her nerves and ridden to Gamling's headquarters with puppy eyes and plea to teach her anything quickly along with dozens of freshly recruited young boys. And, like any peasant woman, she would have got an unambiguous refusal. The division of famous Rohirric shieldmaidens under Lady Eowyn's command existed due to Lady Eowyn's personal goodwill only. That was a privilege for highborns, so she, a manure-kneading commoner, would have been favoured with nothing but a reproach for being still unmarried at the age of seventeen.

Aelga gritted her teeth. Such reproaches, especially from the neighbors whose opinion was highly valued by her parents, made her angry, so she kept focused on her duties. The hostlers and other servants often asked her to bring or pass them something, scurrying by her were the village home guards, whose horses had to be cleaned, equipped and fed, and this would better be done without excessive emotions even in case if all the thoughts were concentrated in the shepherd cabin.

"Aelga!" suddenly someone called her from behind. She has just turned around with a bucket in her hands to take it into the street and empty out to the ditch, when the rider dismounted and all but knocked her over, "Hi, beauty".

"Hi, Lodvald", astonished, she uttered putting the bucket down. "Dropped by to see your home?"

Lodvald had been once living and serving in Trevarn and passed for the cock of the village until moving to Edoras and joining the capital éored. Tall, grey-eyed and broad-shouldered, he was promoted in one year and now was in charge of a squadron of light cavalry archers. He had matured, grew a full adult beard, acquired a large gelding and expensive weapons, so first Aelga hardly recognized him, but one thing remained unchanged – he still had a crush on her…

"Both home and you", he smiled broadly and assumed a dignified air. "I was sent here to supervise the gathering. I'll be residing here for three days and then… khm, well. How are you doing? Still lonely, are you?

"Why lonely?" she parried bypassing the subtext, "This is quite a bustling place, everyone needs me".

"You've got what I meant", Lodvald winked.

"Well, wouldn't you let me out?" Aelga picked her bucket and sidestepped to go around him, but to no avail: he took the handle and pulled. She glared at him frowningly and exhaled, "Do I have no hands?"

Lodvald blinked in bewilderment and reluctantly let go of the bucket. What a narrow-minded person one must be to intrude oneself upon her with unwanted favors knowing how she regards them! She would have accepted help from a close friend but not from a man who had his eye on her. She victoriously walked towards the door ahead of him, kicked it open and laughed cheerfully on her way back:

"Oh, no vacancies, what a pity. Such a strong and industrious worker would have been appreciated here!"

Embarrassed, Lodvald said nothing, but did not surrender.

"Sorry, I nearly forgot: don't go to the far homestead for the time being", he grew serious. "Yesterday two Uruks were knocking about there".

"Did they kill anybody?!" Aelga whitened.

"They stole a goat from the cote in the evening, when it was dark. But they could have broken into some hut as well! Your lads came instantly and cut that scum down on sight", the soldier smiled again. "But still don't walk there, right?"

"Right. Thanks for the warning".

The talk ceased. Rookies came running and Lodvald gave them their number tags, then everyone left for the headquarters, and later nothing happened also except for her working until midnight. Her parents confirmed the news of the far hunter homestead, as they heard about the incident from the neighbor who had stopped there. As a matter of principle father scolded her for being so late and mother read her another lecture about Saruman's evil deeds. And she wasn't certain what was nastier – getting a hundredth earful of admonitions or involuntarily imagining herself (herself!) in the place of abducted and savagely tortured women in the dungeons of Isengard…

"Am I out of my mind?" she thought, "_He_ is one of them! Idvar, my only brother, forfeited his life for them never to cross my way, and now I… ah, damn, let it burn!"

But, despite everything, she saw a torn thread again. Something did not converge and the thoughts of her ward refused to leave her even after the supper when she had blew out the candle and then was falling asleep in her bed. How his wound was healing? How was he doing alone? Hungry… if still alive. What if patrollers have found and killed him like they had done to those two? Thinking of that she failed to get enough sleep but the worst thing was that the turmoil was to last for two more days and calm down just at the third, when the united army of all the Rohan lands marched out to Minas-Tirith in a long steel column.

* * *

Coming into the groove was scary. Aelga did not know what would frighten her more – bumping into the live, strong patient who may ignore the meat in her bag and prefer hers, or seeing his cold corpse. Or his head stuck on a pike. The horsemen are fond of such picturesque things.

Be it good or bad, the cabin was empty. The fire-pit fumed, the armor still lay about in the corner, but there was no sign of him in her field of view and, setting out in search of him, she experienced uncertainty: he has gone back home and that's good, it's the time to leave it in the past… but if so, her life will be dull again as something poignant, bright and enigmatic will have vanished. She looked over the birches' whitish trunks and the snowdrops blossoming out between their roots, and almost assured herself of her guess, when a click and an agonizing rabbit cry was heard from somewhere to the right of her. Having darted that way she got the denial when found the Uruk-Hai doing no less than hunting – he has just solved the provision problem. While she was heading in the direction of the sound he already got to the apparently shot (what with?) rabbit and upon seeing her casted his sight up. Still crouching, he scrunched up his eyes and tilted his head to one side. Men, whose blood was supposedly diluting the Orcish in his veins, do not move like this…

"Peace", Aelga smiled, lifting her unarmed hands in front of her, but there was no need to. The Uruk did not snarl or bare his teeth and appeared to have heard her. He was getting well.

Slowly she came up to him and got a better view of the killing tool. It was a crossbow, a big, powerful, black one, with a quiver full of black-feathered arrows. She had not seen it before. He must have dropped it when he had just found a shelter here. Anyway the veterans spoke of Uruk-Hai crossbows highly, with reluctant respect. Elven bows are more graceful and noiseless but in no way more accurate and also lack striking power.

Aelga gave out a whistle and the Isengarder answered her with a lopsided grin. As he leaned against a tree and straightened up she sweated with mild fright: at nights he had been promenading within the groove but yet never stood up in full height in her presence. The largest among those she knew was Lodvald but there was no comparison between him and Saruman's monster who stood at least seven feet tall. Compared to her five and three. Not to mention his musculature. But… stop trembling! He stands unsteady and wobbles, so it would be sufficient to push him in order to gain time and to sprint to the horse.

But the Orc was showing no aggression. Not in the slightest. He noticed her awkwardness, averted his lilac sight and, holding onto the tree trunks, heavily hobbled to the cabin. He could not speak yet but his hearing was actually restored and now Aelga was anticipating real understanding. Delicately she asked of his health; he nodded or explained it with his fingers. Sometimes he bent in half with hard fits of ragged coughing but his overall recovering progressed at unimaginable rate.

"This is a tarred bandage", she said changing his bandage and preparing the ground for the most difficult part, "It's waterproof. I've bought it at the hospital drugstore for a terrible lot of money… and also duped my mom and dad into thinking that my friend's granny is ill and has nobody to look after her in the night. If the truth is unveiled, I'll be in for it, and you'll die, but we must believe in good, mustn't we?

Proceeding to the main theme of the day she steeled herself but the Uruk-Hai has already known what was awaiting him and just twitched his cheek. Labour and patience defeat all resistance, even Orcish temper.

"Well, that's all. You can't breathe enough before death, so get up… yeah, like that, just don't haste. Wow, you are badass… are you walking by yourself? That's cool, I don't mind… a-a-ah don't fall onto me!

The night plains were wrapped in mist and silence like the realm of dead. Maybe somewhere deadly patrols were riding around, but not here, not in this Powers-forsaken wasteland. Three blurred figures reached the hot spring quite eventlessly. Molly was trotting in some distance, snoring anxiously and flicking her ears. Aelga didn't even dare to dream about forcing the poor animal to carry one of these carnivorous, toothy, stinky creatures, which horses tend to hate and avoid.

* * *

…A little rounded lake with rough saline bottom and sprinkling fountain in the center was deep and looked like a bowl. Not boiling but tolerably hot water was steaming, inviting people to plop into it. Hadn't it been for the presence of her unpredictable companion Aelga wouldn't have withstood it, but that was her and this is an Uruk-Hai whose reluctance to undress puzzled her. To be honest, her little shock sort of reduced her latent horror of that right now and here something lewd will definitely hit his mind. Due to Rohan bathing habits she never was shocked when she saw naked males, but self-defense was her highest priority. A stiletto lay securely under her waistcoat and she was happy as it has been unnecessary so far.

"Gah, take off your trash… one couldn't see a thing around there. What a shy guy!"

But really the Orc did not feel shy. He simply dreaded ending up unprotected if the riders showed up. Sniffing the air, he smelled nothing hostile and forced events. Nimbly he cast his threads off, got into the water and sank at once up to his chest, while Aelga prepared an equine soap along with an equine brush, but before she had time to set about the torture he unexpectedly snatched them out of her hands.

"I can do it myself!" suddenly the low growling voice broke the silence. He flashed his eyes and fangs.

She started aback without even giving weight to how dramatically he regained the gift of speech. Humans and others stood firm with their opinion that Orcs deliberately live in filth, but he was actually bathing, _bathing willingly_! He scratched and rubbed himself with foam, grunting aloud with pleasure. Aelga dragged his belongings to the opposite shore to launder them, but still was watching him during that, and when he tried to get out after only a little dipping his head in the water, she ran up to him right away and shoved him back.

"Where are you going? What about your head?"

"That's enough", he sassed.

"That's ain't enough, you're full of fleas".

It was a solid argument. The Uruk had to settle himself on the underwater ledge and lean backward in order for an unfortunate bath-attendant on the bank to be comfortable while washing his mane. She turned up her sleeves, poured the whole bottle of horse shampoo onto his head and began strenuously scrubbing (one could not call it anything else) one thick strand after another. After fiddling with them for nearly fifteen minutes she got tired and drenched from head to toe. No doubt, he would manage this by himself as well, but she could not help taking advantage of his being phenomenally accustomed to her company… and still she wondered why he behaved like that. Didn't he get that Saruman had quit the game? And if he did, did he accept it? Or didn't he crave to join the army of Mordor? No, it did not seem so too. When you crave you neither spare health nor let a foe, even a civilian, take such liberties…

"What're you doing?" intrigued, he asked without any malice.

"Ah?" Aelga collected herself, "Oh, I didn't mean to!"

Having got weary, she lost herself in thoughts, and her fingers in the thick of his bristly hair began groping his skull – a _nonhuman_ skull with nubbed top and nape ridge, forming a base for _nonhuman_ muscles making his neck look almost like a bull's – and then travelled down said neck to his shoulders, exploring his _nonhuman_ skin. It was tough to touch but not disgusting, no more disgusting than tanned leathery texture of her jacket. Strange they are, Uruk-Hai. Too strange for _human half-breeds_…

"Let me ask you a silly question… do you have names?"

"Do _you_?" the Uruk guffawed with irony. The question was really silly.

"Yes we do. I am Aelga".

"Ellgha", he repeated as if tasting the name. His growling accent prevented him from pronouncing it correctly.

"Hmm, allright. Ellgha. And yours?"

"Ûghûrtz".

"Well, that's nice, Ûghûrtz", she clapped him on his wet shoulders, "Although you're not very talkative we have things to discuss but it would be better to do so tomorrow. Now it's time to go home, isn't it? That's all, get out and put your rags on…"

* * *

…After surviving through another day of work she assessed the result of her efforts. The clean, washed Uruk looked rather different from the thing that had nearly beheaded her at the well. He had cleaned his teeth with a chewing root and didn't stink of a dog anymore. His skin remained black as it was, but before the bath it had seemed unpleasant earthy brownish. However, now it had become coaly with dark-maroon shade and peculiar bluish-black tone when sunlit. The same bluish-black was also his hair. As before, it was thick dense mane, just no longer matted like tow but straight, sleek and glossy. Yesterday, noticing no fleas, she struggled to comb it. Understandably, with an equine hairbrush.

As was her custom recently, she arranged a humble snack-break for two of them near the fire. Potatoes, tomatoes, bread, cheese…

"And meat?.."

"Sorry, but no meat today. Butchers' stalls are empty; everything was bought up for the army's needs.

"It smells like meat", Ûghûrtz stood his ground. In a second he made it out that the source was Aelga herself, so he got closer to her and sniffed her all over. "You do. Hmm, not meat but blood… are you wounded?!"

"No", she whispered with a pale face, realizing the cause. It began early in the morning when she felt belly ache. It annoyed her and she drank a cup of marjoram broth, but forgot that blood scent drives Orcs mad like wargs on hunt. And how do they react to _this particular_, be damned_,_ _blood_?

"Hey, what's wrong?" confused, the Uruk-Hai backed off of her, "Don't be a dumbass, I will not eat **you**!"

The violet eyes emitted a lot of emotions and there was also fear among them. This revived her, considerably calming her down, and for some reason she felt greatly gladdened.

"It is… dunno how to say…" she chose words as neutral as possible. It was like a load off her mind but she wanted fear to disappear from his face too. "It occurs in females. Monthly. Non-lethally".

"So it turned out to be true", he mumbled like remembering something. "Allright, got it. If not for you I would have kicked the bucket already… so if anyone dares to assault you I will gut them with this!" he toyed with his sword. The crooked edge was pretty fitting for such a purpose. "Forgive me for being kooky, I couldn't make heads or tails out of all of that and didn't even assume that you… that a _she-human_… would spare my life and not give me away to the horsemen".

Aelga was not offended by "she-human" in any way. She was much more touched by his genuine, sincere gratitude, the feeling Orcs were not known to experience. Because of them being ruined and twisted things bred in envy and mockery of Elves and preoccupied with the mania of destruction… et cetera.

"Ûghûrtz, I can't grasp myself why I saved you", she confessed chewing on the potato and drinking it down with the koumiss which she did not offer to him. "Perhaps because I encountered an Uruk-Hai for the first time in my life and was curious about what kind of beings you are. Now you must forgive my kookiness – you are _nowhere near_ what I had imagined you. But this doesn't change the fact you are an enemy of my people! You were in the Deep where my brother fell… and he was killed by one of you crossbowmen. Aren't you a shooter? Or a swordsman?"

"Both. It depends on opponents", the Uruk chuckled. "Where did you brother die?"

"At the gates. When you broke through he was among those who reinforced it".

"Then I didn't kill him", he shrugged. "At first I had been in the shooter row, and having emptied my quiver I climbed onto the nether wall. I fought Elves there. Later everyone below stepped aside, giving way to the torch… and then I fell down unconscious. I was thrown off the wall and miraculously didn't break any bones. Two times after that I came round, remember being carried by four arms and finally woke up here. Those two were near me, they held me close, didn't let me go and gave me lots of _slaitum_ to drink… but then disappeared without a trace.

"So they're those who wanted to steal a goat", Lodvald's story in her memory got a background. "They didn't abandon you, Ûghûrtz. It is a lame solace but they just left to get some food and ran into a patrol.

"I know", the Uruk-Hai said in a sullen voice and looked away. "_They_ couldn't leave me behind. They just died."

Dismal silence hung over them. It seemed like birds stopped singing in the young foliage, and then it hit Aelga again: the War equally bereft them of their close ones. Her brother, his friends. Although Orcs cannot have friends. This is Mannish, Elven, Dwarvish, Hobbit conception and there is no place for Orcs in this list – but if this is true, why did their field lunch spontaneously turned into a repast? Two opposites dumbly gazed at the fire, fair-skinned fingers on the bench were slightly touching a black taloned paw… and at that moment Aelga paid attention to some bizarre scars. Ûghûrtz had a lot of scars on his chest and shoulders, on his abdomen and thighs and even one on his face, vertically crossing his left eyebrow and cheek, but these, on the inner side of his right forearm, stood out against the others as they were identical and symmetrical like stamps, five small, half-inch-sized pinkish squared cicatrices. The Uruk noticed Aelga's interest and smiled widely. He appeared to be proud of them like of the kill marks on his crossbow.

"What weapon were they made with?"

"Not a weapon but a… some unknown tool. These are not combat wounds; they were given to those who excelled at _normatives"_, something strict, literal and unfamiliar emanated out of this word and it was the last Aelga expected to hear from such a brutal being. Meanwhile, Ûghûrtz rubbed his forehead, feeling uneasy while composing the further answer, and continued: "Neither Saruman nor his servants told us what that was for but there were always one to eight. In the barracks it was commonly thought of as cool and honorific. There were various rumors that, for an instance, with every "square" you get the number of your lookalikes grows by one…

What a twist!

Aelga's eyes popped out of the sockets and the koumiss stuck in her throat. Not only that surprised her but also the fact that her imagination depicted neither pitch-black casemates nor pregnant captives.

"Ellgha, what happened?"

"N-nothing", she shook herself but didn't risk digging into details. Instead she drank the rest of her koumiss and started a new topic: "Would you love to die for Sauron?"

"No", Ûghûrtz cut uncompromisingly, "This war is no more mine. No more ours".

* * *

**A/N: The Uruk's name had been created as a blend of Uglûk, Mauhûr and Lurtz, but then surprisingly I found a quite similarly sounding word "ûghûrz" in the Black Speech on the LoS website. It means "(self)sufficient". I think "Ûghûrtz" may be interpreted so, as he is an introverted person with rather high IQ.**


End file.
